That night, the ruins were quieter than usual.
Wrapped in the new blanket, Aero lay on his side, one arm loosely around Lina to keep her from rolling away. The fabric smelled faintly of cookie and bread, a smell that felt almost unreal.
Lina wiggled beneath the blanket.
"Aero?"
"Yes?" he whispered.
"Today was a good day."
Aero thought about it. The blanket. The bread. The cookie still waiting.
"…Yeah," he said. "It was."
There was a small pause.
"Do you think," Lina asked sleepily, "that tomorrow can be a good day too?"
Aero stared at the cracked wall in front of him. A long fracture ran through the stone like a frozen lightning bolt. He didn't know about tomorrows the way grown-ups did. He only knew about mornings and nights.
"I'll try," he said finally.
That seemed to be enough.
They shared the cookie slowly, crumbs falling onto the blanket. Lina licked the sugar from her fingers and yawned so hard her whole body stretched.
"Good night, brother," she murmured.
"Good night, Lina."
Her breathing evened out not long after. Aero listened to it carefully, the way he always did, until he was sure she was asleep. Only then did he let his own eyes close.
For once, the cold didn't wake them.
Morning came quietly.
Not with alarms or voices, but with pale light slipping through the cracks in the ruined walls. Aero's eyes opened first. He lay still for a moment, confused by the warmth around him.
Then he remembered.
The blanket.
A small smile crept onto his face.
Lina was curled against his chest, her hair messy, her hands tucked under her chin. She made a tiny sound in her sleep, like a kitten dreaming.
Aero didn't move right away. He didn't want to wake her.
Carefully, very carefully, he slid out from under the blanket and stood up. The cold bit at his ankles immediately, reminding him that winter hadn't gone anywhere.
"Still okay," he whispered to himself.
He picked up the little metal pot they used for water. It was dented and stained, but it held water, and that was enough. Beside it was his small bucket—the one he carried every morning.
Aero folded yesterday's newspaper that he get from the street notice bord and stuffed it inside his coat, just like he always did. The paper crinkled loudly, and he froze, glancing back at Lina.
She didn't wake.
Good.
He pulled on his worn shoes, slung the bucket over his arm, and slipped outside.
The river lay beyond the ruins, close enough to hear if the wind was right. It wasn't a clean river anymore. Nothing was clean now. But it flowed, and it wasn't poisoned—at least not yet.
Aero walked carefully, watching where he stepped. Broken glass glittered among the stones like false stars. Far away, the skeletal remains of old towers pierced the sky, and even farther, beyond the haze, lights from the aristocrat town shimmered faintly.
He didn't look at them for long.
The riverbank was cold and muddy. Aero knelt, holding the bucket steady as he dipped it into the slow-moving water. The current pushed back, stubborn and heavy.
"Don't spill," he muttered.
Water sloshed against the sides. His arms shook a little as he lifted the bucket and poured it into the pot he'd left nearby.
One trip.
Then another.
By the third round, his fingers were numb, red and aching, but the pot was finally full. Aero wiped his nose with his sleeve and let out a small breath of relief.
"Done," he said quietly, as if the river needed to hear it.
When he returned, Lina was awake.
She sat wrapped in the blanket like a cocoon, rubbing her eyes.
"You went without me," she said, not accusing—just stating a fact.
"I didn't want to wake you," Aero replied, setting the pot down carefully. "You looked warm."
Lina considered this. Then she smiled.
"I was warm."
That made his chest feel light.
While Lina watched, Aero grabbed the little broom—more sticks than bristles—and began to sweep. Dust rose in lazy clouds, glowing in the morning light. He moved the crates aside, straightened the blanket, stacked their few belongings neatly.
It wasn't much of a home.
But it was theirs.
Lina scooted over and helped by picking up small bits of debris, placing them proudly into a corner pile.
"Look," she said. "I cleaned too."
Aero nodded seriously. "Good job."
Outside, the wind howled through the ruins. Somewhere far away, machines hummed and lights flickered—signs of a broken world still trying to move forward.
Inside the old half rundown house, a boy and his sister started their day.
Warm enough.
Together.
And alive.